


Gasoline on the Fire

by makeit_takeit



Series: Missing Scenes [3]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Friendship, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 12:19:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeit_takeit/pseuds/makeit_takeit
Summary: "Day of Days". Invading Normandy, and what happens next.Their arms go around each other automatically, both grinning stupidly, laughing at nothing. Dick can see it in Nix’s eyes, that same relief. The elation and the terror, at once.





	Gasoline on the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ on 4/11/2009.

Dick hits the ground running, almost literally. It’s mass confusion, best laid plans run amok in fields, across streams, among the trees. He doesn’t even have a gun, for Pete’s sake. Nothing is how it should be, and all he can do is keep his head and try to think his way out. Gather what troops he can, get his bearings, identify his position, scrounge a weapon, and keep moving. _Keep moving, keep alive_.

Nowhere in the midst of these thoughts does Lewis Nixon cross his mind.

He saw plenty from the open door of the plane – saw the hellfire raining down, sky lit up like noon in summertime, planes exploding, beaches in flames, chutes charred and burning up, men spiraling past him through the sky, lost to the sea, or the trees. He knew what he was jumping into – what they were all jumping into, Nix included. When he stepped out into nothing, felt the prop blast knock him 10 yards sideways, the prayer he said wasn’t just for himself, it was _God help us all._

But still. Between the race to get to the assembly area, the missing Lieutenant Meehan, the sudden responsibility for the whole of Easy, and the harried intensity of the Brecourt assault, he doesn’t have much time to devote to wondering where the rest of his company is, in anything other than a passing, casual way; no, not even Nix. 

But when that tank rolls up, by God. 

When that tank rolls up, the flood of relief that washes into him is enough to take his breath, rock him back, just for a second. In that second he thinks,  _what if I’d lost him?_ , the suddenly very real possibility of such an outcome starting to burn deep down in his chest. But then he hears that voice, and his face cracks into a grin; couldn’t have stopped it if he’d tried – that’s Lew’s effect on him.

_Goin’ my way?_

_Sure._

It comes out just that easily, doesn’t even think about it. Wherever Nix is going, Dick’s going too; simple as that. He tosses up his gun, nods  _Sir_ to the Major, and grabs Lew’s outstretched arm to haul himself up.

_Careful, don’t hurt yourself._

_Nice ride ya got here, Nix._

Their arms go around each other automatically, both grinning stupidly, laughing at nothing. Dick can see it in Nix’s eyes, that same relief. The elation and the terror, at once. That sudden dawning – brutal and beautiful: when something means that much to you, you have that much more to lose, and war is hell without pouring gasoline on the fire.

They keep moving through the night, past Sainte Marie-du-Mont and into the sleepy villages that lie beyond, securing each and rolling through, leaving nameless, faceless buildings and people behind until finally they reach the one where Regiment has set up HQ, finally have a place to bed down for a night before moving on. The officers know already that their objective is Carentan; know they’re moving out tomorrow at dusk, know they’ll have few days’ march South through Kraut-infested territory, know those promises from the top that they’d be relieved after 3 days are long forgotten by now - but that’s for tomorrow. For the night at least, the boys can take a load off, have a drink, a hot meal and a shower.

Dick sits with Nixon at a table in the corner of a tiny tavern, packed with soldiers. Lew tips his glass up, draining what must be his 5th, while Dick watches, slowly sipping his water. He loses track of time, an observer to the revelry and the noise; finally, his eyes feel too heavy to keep forcing them open, and he stands, shoving back his chair.

_Think I’ll turn in._

_What, already?_

_Some of us need our beauty sleep._

_I’ll say._

Dick grins, nods, claps Nix on the shoulder on his way out. The sky is hazy outside, a low waft of smoke from artillery and burning forests blankets them everywhere they go, so the whole world seems at war. But the stars are still shining up there, over the thick canopy of choking gray; he can see them, barely, twinkling just like they do back home. He stops at the door of the old barn being used as officer’s quarters, stares up at them, wishing he could have seen France through different eyes, before it looked like this, smothered and burnt and torn. A hand clamps down on his shoulder, and he starts.

_Nix. Didn’t hear anybody coming._

_Good thing it was just me._

_Didn’t figure I’d be seeing you before daylight._

_Ah, well. What ya lookin’ for up there?_

_Just thinking. France must be nice, when there’s not a war on._

_Yeah, it is. Real nice._

Nix keeps his hand on Dick’s shoulder, stands there next to him with his neck craned up too, the two of them staring at the sky in the smoggy light until Nix’s hand finally falls away, and he opens the door to the barn, holding it wide, waiting.

They troop in, stomping mud off their boots, noses wrinkling at the smell of manure, and head up to the loft where the hay is plentiful and sweet smelling. Jackets and boots come off, laid on the ground while officers are snoring all around them, scattered and sprawled across piles of brittle straw, exhausted. 

Nix collapses into a loose bale, and groans. Slowly, Dick crawls up beside him; near but not too near, and groans too.

_Not as soft as it looks._

_Guess it’s true what they say about beggars._

_Can’t remember the last time I even laid down._

_Can’t, either._

_Figure you’re gonna get a medal for that job you pulled on the Kraut Guns in Brecourt?_

_Hadn’t thought about it._

_Course you haven’t._

_Just following orders._

_And CO of Easy, too._

_Strange, isn’t it?_

_Not really, no. You’re Dick Winters. No flaws, no vices._

_No sense of humor?_

_Can’t have everything, Dick._

_Thanks, Nix._

_You’ll get that medal, wait._

_We’ll see._

Dick smiles in the dark, a half smile. He can still see the dimmed shine of the stars out the open loft, like candles behind an snowy window pane. Nix rolls over, reaches his hand across the space between, snags his finger into the cuff of Dick’s sleeve and holds on, twisting.

_My hero._

Dick can hear the smirk in that voice, looks over to see the corner of Lew’s mouth turned up, watches as his eyes close, his lips part. Dick watches the rhythmic rise and fall of Lew’s silhouette by starlight, feels the warm, rough knuckles still tucked up against the smooth skin inside his wrist, and wishes he could believe the worst is over.


End file.
